The Guilty Ones
by kitsunechibiko
Summary: "Something started crazy: sweet and unknown... And now our bodies are the guilty ones..." Puckurt.


**Disclaimer: I only own the order of these words and the mind that wrote this fic.**

**This is set sometime between "Preggers" and "Hell-O". Don't really know when. The song is "The Guilty Ones" from **_**Spring Awakening**_**. Which was introduced to me by ****A Touch of Insanity****. Seriously, read her. I love her. And I hope my use of this song doesn't offend anyone, but I just had this one image in my head every time I hear the first verse. I had to write it.**

**So here's bringing you to the song-fic.**

_Something started crazy:  
__Sweet and unknown__,_

Just like every other day, Kurt was grabbed and habitually tossed into a dumpster. And it sucked. It really, really sucked.

_Something you keep in a box on the street.  
Now it's longing for a home._

But his mind had taken a dangerous turn—again—, and he cursed himself softly as he made no move to get out of the dumpster. Somehow, his thoughts had gotten stuck on one Noah "Puck" Puckerman lately. He figured it was just teenage hormones and the fact that Puck has the body of a _god_, but some tiny, little voice in his head has been hissing him mutinous garbage: _He's looking at you again; he's checking you out. He totally just froze when he saw your outfit. Look, look, he's taking off his jacket. You __know__ you want him._

He was secretly crushing on Puck, and it was distressing. Not only did he have an evil, hormone-charged voice in his head, he was actually starting to listen to it. _He likes you. He watches you. Today, he grabbed you as soon as you got out of the car. Wrapped his arm around your waist. Held you for a long time… He doesn't need to touch you like that just to toss you into a dumpster. He likes you. And you like him._

Stupid voice. He had obviously gone insane. One: Puck was an asshole and had been his tormentor since elementary. Two: Liking Puck was even more stupid than liking Finn—which he still does, but Puck has started to frequent his mind more often now. And three: Puck was so NOT **GAY**.

Kurt wished at least a little bit of those points were untrue.

_And who can say what dreams are?  
Wake me in time to be lonely and sad._

He peaked over the edge of the dumpster, watching the jocks walk away, and felt an uncalled-for twinge of longing for one in particular.

_And who can say what we are?  
Now, this is the season for dreaming._

And said jock… said jock looked over his shoulder to make sure Kurt was okay, as he does inconspicuously every day. His eyes widened in mild shock when they locked with cloudy blue ones.

The smaller teen was also surprised, but by the concern he had seen in Puck's eyes.

They regarded each other, unmoving and not really knowing what emotion they were feeling, what feeling the other was experiencing.

After a few seconds of not-communication, the mohawk-ed teen slowly turned his head and caught up with his posse's conversation.

Maybe the voice wasn't so stupid after all.

* * *

Things had been different between them. It wasn't anything perceivable, but more of a feeling. No animosity at all. There was a kind of cautiousness, but not for each other, for themselves. Each one tried not to act differently, tried to tell themselves that whatever they thought was happening was obviously not happening and that they were an idiot for thinking it.

But every time their eyes met, they could feel it: an undercurrent of intensity and emotion. If it wasn't for the fact that they both had already acknowledged their own feelings for the other, nothing would have happened; the two would have succeeded in convincing themselves that nothing was between them. But thank god they were already head-over-heels.

When they couldn't contain themselves anymore, the two teens stayed behind in the choir room after glee. They stood there, both extremely nervous. It was awkward and too warm.

"My dad's out of town for the week," the soprano blurted out. Of all the things, the first words he says sound like an invitation for casual sex. Not that he didn't want that, it's just, he sounded like a desperate whore. _You're __totally__ desperate to be his whore. _Shut up!

"I know," was replied eventually.

Kurt, in his surprise, raised his head to look at the jock. "You know?"

Puck ducked his head and ran a hand through his mohawk. When he remembered that that made him look nervous, and not cool, he put his hands in his pockets. "I heard you tell that Black chick."

The male diva was a little ruffled at the older teen's words, but he didn't really expect the jock to know or care about all (3) his friends; it was a miracle enough just what was going on between the two of them.

"Do you wanna hang out?" Kurt unconsciously held his breath.

Puck nodded once and followed the soprano to his car.

* * *

To say that it was awkward would be understating an understatement. Neither teen had very much experience with this new emotion—love—much less the ability to talk about it.

They remained silent as Kurt, not knowing what else to do, led the jock to his bedroom. They sat side by side on the bed, not looking at each other, hearts pounding.

The diva bit his lip and broke the silence. "I'm not imagining this, right? This isn't just my hormones going crazy, and I'm making bad life choices? There's… there's something… here… right?"

There was a stifling pause before Puck took hold of Kurt's hand, and they turned to look at each other. The older teen's expression was so intense, and soft, and it was all the answer necessary.

Their first kiss was gentle and perfect. There was no need to express their feeling with words. Not right now. Not with everything in them overflowing, their need and want taking over.

It didn't take long for them to reach a point where all inhibitions just fell away.

_And now our bodies are the guilty ones  
Who touch and color the hours.  
Night won't breathe, oh, how we  
Fall in silence from the sky_

Loving so tenderly, feeling so complete, had been a new experience for both of them. The sex itself had been a little bit weird. And it also had been absolutely amazing.

They were cuddling now, spooning, completely comfortable and warm.

And it had been Puck who said the words first. "… I love you."

_And whisper some silver reply._

Kurt blushed in the darkness. "Love you, too."

_Whoa…_

_

* * *

_

_Pulse is gone and racing—  
All fits and starts._

At school the next morning, Puck spotted the soprano in the hallway, putting books into his messenger bag. The jock made his way to his—_I still can't believe it_—lover, nervously. He was going to talk to Kurt, was going to smile at him, was going to do _something_.

Feeling someone's gaze, the diva turned around and sent a small, shy smile at Puck. The mohawk-ed teen's heart was pounding. He could do this. He could do this. He wasn't some mega-colossal ASSHOLE that wouldn't even say hi to the person he loves. And he loves Kurt. So much.

He walked over to the younger boy.

And then he ducked his head and kept walking.

_Window by window you try and look into  
This brave new you that you are.  
_

Cursing himself, the incomparable douchebag looked over his shoulder and saw Kurt: jaw clenched and head hung. He knew that look. He had seen it all the times the soprano thought no one was looking. The smaller teen was currently hiding his hurt and trying to compose his diva mask.

And Puck couldn't take it. He determinedly walked back to the boy he loved and grabbed his hand, causing Kurt to look up immediately, eyes wide. The jock just blushed and averted his eyes as a huge smile spread across the other's face. _I told you he loves you._

_And who can say what dreams are?_

As they walked down the hallway hand-in-hand, they caught the eyes of a few shell-shocked glee clubbers.

Kurt tried his best not to glow too obviously.

_Wake me in time to be out in the cold._

When they reached the diva's classroom, Puck gave an awkward nod as a goodbye and rushed to his own class. Kurt would have felt abandoned, if it wasn't for the fact that his hand was still warm.

* * *

_And who can say what we are?  
This is the reason for dreaming._

They spent the day together. Well, not really _together_, but they would always trade covert glances and secret smiles, pass notes and text when they could get away with it. Even though they were physically away from each other, their interactions made them feel so close—in the way that only love can do.

They had lunch together, away from everyone else. Puck had somehow found a way to the roof, and they ate in peaceful bliss.

And throughout the day, when they could, they would sneak kisses and hold hands. And it was wonderful.

* * *

_And now our bodies are the guilty ones_

During glee, they tried to keep up pretenses. Kind of. They sat next to each other, trying not to look like they were paying attention to each other.

_Our touch will fill every hour_

But of course the gleeks noticed. Especially the way their hands were touching just slightly.

_Huge and dark, oh, our hearts_

When they got up to learn their new musical number, they stood next to each other—as the choreography required, of course—and almost refrained themselves from looking into the other's eyes and singing to each other. Almost.

_Will murmur the blues from on high  
_

In the end, Puck held Kurt from behind, not giving a damn if the glee-ers saw.

_And whisper some silver reply_

They sang the last notes as one:

_Whoa…_

_

* * *

_

But there was no way it could last.

_And now our bodies are the guilty ones  
Our touch will color the hours  
Night won't breathe, oh, how we  
Fall in silence from the sky_

Puck had been getting shit for not picking on the gay kid. It had been weeks since he'd done anything harmful to Kurt. Hadn't even slushied him or stolen his belongings. And it looked like the jocks might start adding the mohawk-ed teen to their target list again if he didn't change. If things didn't go back to the way they were _before_. And our diva protagonist knew that despite whatever Noah may say, things would be better _(EASIER) _if they just went back to before and acted like none of this _(THEM)_ ever happened.

It killed him to say it. Almost as much as it killed Puck to agree.

They had one more night. One last night of being lovers and of being the best thing that ever happened to each other. They made love so sweetly and softly that the gods took pity on them and froze time for them. Just for a little while. While lying in each other's arms for the last time.

"I love you, Kurt." The words hurt so much, painfully crammed with as much emotion as he could ever possibly hope to convey.

_And whisper some silver reply_

"I love you, too, Noah," and the beautiful boy turned towards his lover, curling into a strong chest he'll miss for the rest of his life.

_Whoa…_

"I'm not gonna cry," Kurt whispered, trying to stifle the tightening in his chest at the prospect of losing such a wonderful thing.

Puck just held the teen tighter, feeling the same pain.

* * *

The next morning Puck grabbed Kurt around the waist. They relished in the embrace for as long as they could.

Until Kurt was dropped into the dumpster, and Puck walked away.

_And now our bodies are the guilty ones…_


End file.
